High-Society Bachelor

Chapter Two

Deborah did not look happy. That fact alone was noteworthy, since Cameron hadn’t seen her any other way in the short time he’d known her.

During that time she’d met each of his complaints with a cheerful calm and a chatty reply that kept him off-balance. Amused, too, in spite of his irritation. Even during the past month, when she’d apparently been recovering from her fiancé’s rejection, Cam would never have guessed it by seeing or talking to her. When their paths crossed, she was often deep in conversation with a neighbor, gesturing with an enthusiasm that echoed in her lively blue eyes. She always seemed about to smile.

Except for right now. Right now she looked like she’d rather be doing anything else than having this conversation.

“No.” She shoved a hand through her thick blond hair. “I can’t be your hostess.”

Cam blinked. He wasn’t prepared for a refusal at all, let alone such an abrupt one. What was the matter with her?

He gave a mental shrug. He couldn’t afford to wonder what Deborah’s problem was. He needed her, and she owed him her cooperation. Simple as that.

“This works out well,” Cam said, ignoring her last statement. “I thought I was going to have to go without a hostess for my party, but that little problem is solved now that I’ve suddenly acquired a girlfriend.” He put emphasis on the last few words.

Her expression told him she’d gotten his point, but Deborah shook her head. “I can’t be your hostess,” she repeated. “And I can’t imagine why you’d want me to, anyway, since it’s obvious you don’t approve of me.” Her gaze met his squarely, daring him to deny it.

Cam frowned. “What are you talking about?”

She snorted. “Frowns just like the one you’re wearing now, that’s what I’m talking about. I know disapproval when I see it, and that’s about all I’ve seen from you, ever since I met you.”

Cam stared at her. She was refreshingly honest. He ought to be able to return her honesty. He wanted to. But what could he say? Yeah, you’re right. I sure as hell disapproved of that engagement ring you were wearing. And I still disapprove of the ten years, minimum, difference in our ages.

No, he couldn’t say that. She would think he was chasing her, which couldn’t be further from the truth. After all, even without the age gap they were completely incompatible. And yet he was relieved—happy, even—to see the last of that damned ring.

He couldn’t explain what he didn’t understand himself.

Cam settled for a small slice of the truth. “That wasn’t disapproval. It was plain bad temper, and I’ve been meaning to apologize for it. Let’s just say something was bothering me and leave it at that.”

She looked stunned. Her eyes were wide, almost swallowing up her extremely innocent-looking face. “Okay,” she said finally. After another long pause she added, “But I still can’t be your hostess.” This time her voice held some regret.

“Yes, you can. Helping me out is the least you can do.” He fixed her with a long stare. “You owe me.”

She closed her eyes.

“Consider it a routine payment of a debt,” he advised, watching despair fill her expressive features. He smiled. Talk about melodrama. She had an obvious flair for it. And he should know, because he’d had enough drama from women to last him a lifetime.

“I don’t get it.” She opened her eyes again and gave him a look that was both exasperated and uncomprehending. “You’ve got tons of women to choose from. Why would you want me to hostess your party? People will think we’re…you know…together.” She waved a hand, making her aversion to the idea clear. But then she must have realized her response wasn’t flattering, because her cheeks pinkened.

“Like Marilyn does, for instance?” Cam asked with exaggerated politeness.

She shot him a quelling look. “I told you, that was a spur-of-the-moment impulse. One little slip doesn’t justify a larger deception. Anyway, as you yourself pointed out, the idea of us as a couple is implausible and idiotic.”

“I didn’t say it was implausible,” he argued. He wouldn’t have said that, because it wasn’t. Plenty of guys dated much younger girls. He just wasn’t one of them.

“And the only reason we find ourselves in an idiotic situation is that you didn’t give me a heads-up. You’re lucky I didn’t blow it,” Cam told her. In fact, he’d come close to it. But he’d recovered in time. Stunned as he was, he’d also found himself more intrigued than he’d been in a long time.

Much as he hated to admit it, he’d jumped at the excuse to go challenge her for an explanation.

Deborah’s head was bent as she examined her nails, which were perfectly groomed. Unvarnished and natural, like the girl herself. Then she looked up again. “You’re right. Thanks for not giving me away.”

“You’re welcome.” Cam eyed her mouth. She had a full lower lip that contributed a hint of sensuality to her fresh, girl-next-door good looks. He dragged his gaze away. She didn’t seem exactly crushed about her broken engagement. Was that another example of her refusal to take anything in life seriously? Or was it only pretense, an attempt at salvaging her pride? Either explanation seemed plausible, but only one explained the story she’d told Marilyn.

“For what it’s worth, I understand why you lied about having a boyfriend,” Cam told her.

She grimaced. “I prefer the word fibbed.”

“Fine. I know why you fibbed.”

She sent him a wary look that didn’t quite come off on a face as open and friendly as hers. “You do?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Her son ditched you and you looked for a face-saver. It’s a natural enough response. Egos are fragile things.”

That earned him a scowl that looked even stranger on her face. “First off, Mark did not ‘ditch’ me, at least not the way you make it sound. He’s too civilized for that. Second, my ego is sturdy enough, thank you very much. As I said, I was trying to put Marilyn’s mind to rest.”

Irritated that she wouldn’t come clean with him, Cam shot her a skeptical look. “Your ex-fiancé’s mother? Uh-huh. I’m sure the fact that what’s-hisname, your ex, would hear about your new boyfriend had nothing to do with it.” Why had he said that? He felt ridiculous, as if they were college kids arguing over Sunday night pizza.

He, at least, had left his college days far behind.

“That’s right, it had absolutely nothing to do with it.” She looked like she actually believed what she was saying. Her deep blue eyes were wide and indignant. Truthful.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cam said finally. “You’re better off without him, anyway. Don’t the surveys say single women are happier than married women?” Barb kept up on all the surveys, and she didn’t believe in sparing him any of the good news. The rest of the survey had claimed that married men were happier than single men.

He could still hear the triumph in Barb’s voice, but Cam knew the survey was wrong on that point. It was wrong for the simple reason that men were biologically predisposed to prefer variety. They had a natural instinct to run from entanglement. Marriage was only for those who’d lost the energy to run.

He planned to stay energetic for life.

Besides, he’d seen no evidence of marriage producing long-term happiness for either men or women. At best they tolerated each other and at worst, they ended up in bitter custody battles over children who could only sit there in misery, wanting to be anywhere but there, in the middle of all the shouting.

The phone rang. When Deborah excused herself to go get it, Cam found himself disappointed. Based on her track record, her facial expression and her long silence, he figured she’d probably had something memorable to say. And now he’d miss it. His encounters with Deborah always left him strangely invigorated, as if he were a newly revved-up engine.

Cam took advantage of her absence to glance around her living room. Except for the couch he was sitting on, the furniture was wicker, which wasn’t a favorite of his. It looked okay in this room, though, especially combined with lots of plants and a collection of brightly colored pillows. Two end tables painted with funky designs flanked the couch. The scarcity of furniture made him suspect that Deborah’s apartment had been furnished on a tight budget. But she’d done a creative job of it. The best features of the room were the large stone fireplace and the hardwood floors.

He could hear Deborah’s voice, a distant murmur as she talked on the phone in the kitchen. She had a clear, pleasant voice that suited her. Books and other collectibles told a lot about a person, so he got up and went over to look at her bookshelves.

She had political thrillers, which was a surprise. He recognized a couple of his own favorite authors. A few mystery novels, some romantic comedies and a variety of nonfiction titles rounded out her reading collection. There were several photographs of a teenage Deborah with another girl. Her sister? Probably, judging by the family resemblance. Nearby was another photo of a woman who had to be her mother. There was no evidence of her father.

Cam had just put the silver-framed photo down when Deborah strode back into the room, a tablet of paper in hand.

He liked the way she moved. It was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. She had a carefree, swingy kind of walk and the height to carry it off gracefully. She had to be five feet ten or so, with a slender, athletic build. Curves in all the right places. Dressed more classically, she would look elegant, but even in artsy clothes she was striking. Her bright blue tunic sweater and leggings accentuated her mile-long legs.

Even though Deborah Clark was way too young for him, he enjoyed looking at her. As he’d assured himself several times, there was nothing wrong with that. But it bothered him a little to realize that he especially enjoyed looking at her now that he didn’t have to remind himself she was engaged, and he didn’t have to feel the familiar and illogical surge of irritation that the reminder always carried with it.

The fact was that right from the beginning, he’d found it all too easy to watch Deborah. Her shapely body and streaky blond hair were eye-catching enough, but the lively intelligence in her eyes and the humor in her expression riveted his attention. Looking at her almost made him forget her flippant attitude, extreme chattiness and appalling taste in music. One thing was for sure: He would not be putting her in charge of the string quartet.

In fact, he’d have to keep her on a tight leash with every aspect of the party planning, because although she wasn’t the doily type, tie-dye might not be far off the mark, and he wasn’t a fan of the neo-sixties look. He’d agreed to offer the planning job to Deborah based only on Barb’s assurances that the younger woman could produce elegant parties. His motherly administrative assistant had apparently added Deborah Clark to her collection of strays.

Cam watched as Deborah finished jotting something down on her small pad of paper. A favor to Barb was one thing, but he was no martyr. Fortunately, and thanks to Deborah herself, he would reap the added benefit of a hostess for his party. An attractive one, too. Deborah might not fit his image of the ideal girlfriend, but she was easy on the eyes. Most importantly, she wasn’t going to make any demands on him during the evening. No expectations, no fits of fury, no sulking episodes. He’d be faced only with a cheerful, chatty female who would help him persuade little Heather Manders to exercise her teenage feminine wiles on someone else.

“Sorry about the interruption,” Deborah said, looking up from her pad of paper. “But I always answer the phone during business hours since my company is home-based.”

He nodded and focused his attention on the small, gray-striped cat that trotted behind her into the living room. “There’s a familiar face,” he commented, aware of mixed feelings. Although highly appealing, the animal reminded him of behavior he’d rather forget.

A month ago, the cat had followed Cam from the hallway into his office, where the feline had promptly curled up on his desk and fallen asleep on a stack of legal documents, wrinkling the top one beyond redemption. When Barb had identified the cat, Cam had stalked upstairs to deliver the interloper, along with a few curt words he shouldn’t have come out with.

It was true that the wrinkled original contract had to be completely redone. It was also true that a robe-clad Deborah had arrived at the door looking damp and tousled, with an innocent gaze that didn’t match her clothing. Still, Cam should have been polite.

Furthermore, he didn’t want to analyze why so much of his annoyance with this girl seemed to have disappeared along with her engagement ring. Nothing about his reaction to her made any sense.

Was she even twenty-one?

“That’s Libby. I think she remembers you, too,” Deborah said now, as the cat twined herself around his ankles before jumping up into the wicker chair opposite the couch. The feline immediately settled into the cushions and went to sleep.

“Interesting name for a cat,” Cam observed.

“I named her after my roommate,” Deborah explained. “When Beth moved out, I replaced her with a cat. Sort of. Libby talks less and has a lot less energy than Beth, but she’s good company.” She turned back to look at Cam, and the dangly silver earrings she wore swung gently. “Let’s see, where were we?”

“We were discussing the fact that you owe it to me to hostess my party.”

She grimaced. “Okay. I agree I owe you one, but there must be some other way I can pay my debt.” She gave him a hopeful look. “I could walk your dog for a week.”

“I don’t have a dog,” Cam told her.

“Figures,” she muttered.

“Look, why don’t you clue me in?” He steered her over to the couch, and she sat down without protesting. “What’s so terrible about hostessing my party?”

Aside from the fact that being romantically linked with him horrified her so much she’d rather take her chances with a dog. Cam grimaced.

Looking on the bright side, this situation was a nice change from being chased for his money. It was pretty damned ridiculous to be annoyed, especially since she wasn’t an appropriate romantic interest for him, anyway.

For a long moment, it looked like Deborah was going to refuse to tell him anything. She sat there watching him with her big blue eyes. Finally, she gave a small shrug. “I don’t like parties.”

Cam stared at her. “But you plan parties. That’s what you do for a living.”

“Of course it is. That doesn’t mean I have to like going to them,” she explained, as if her line of reasoning made complete sense. His disbelief must have shown, because she sighed and continued. “I like the idea of parties, and I have fun planning them. I even enjoy the atmosphere if I’m working at an event. But going to a party, not having anything to do there, not knowing what to say—” She shook her head. “It’s the pits.” Her expression was eloquent.

“But you’re so talkative,” Cam protested. “You’re a natural party girl.”

She glared at him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

“Don’t call me a girl, either,” she ordered. “I’m a woman.”

He laughed.

Her glare intensified.

“Fine, you’re a woman,” Cam agreed. “A woman who, every time I see her, is chatting away to someone.” Not to him, of course. She didn’t chat with him. Probably because she didn’t like him. Perfectly logical, of course, since he hadn’t been very nice to her. In any case, she didn’t have to like him. She only had to agree to his plan.

“I like talking one-on-one,” she said. “But I don’t like crowds of people, all of whom I’m expected to exchange meaningless chitchat with.” She gave him a determined look. “So let’s just agree that I’d be a disaster as your hostess.”

He shook his head. “I don’t agree. You’ll do fine.” She would, too. It was only a party. They didn’t need to have anything in common in order to spend one evening together. He just hoped she would manage to look older than sixteen. Maybe he could add it into their contract.

Deborah was staring at him. “Doesn’t it bother you at all that I don’t want to do this?”

“I can live with it,” he assured her.

She muttered something he didn’t catch.

“You’re the one who started all this,” he reminded her again.

“Yes, and I’m also the one who’s volunteered to make it up to you in other ways!” she snapped. Then her eyes flickered and her cheeks reddened, and Cameron realized her thoughts were moving along the same lines his were. That surprised him, coming from someone so innocent. She emitted purity like some women did perfume.

“I could wash your car every week for a month,” she offered hastily. “You know, that fancy foreign silver thing you love so much.”

Wash his car? Cam flinched. He couldn’t help it.

“Ooo-kay,” she said. “You’d rather die than let me touch your car. Fine.” Her tone was light, but a hint of hurt filled her beautiful blue eyes.

Cam sighed. Damn. He was going to have to tell her. He’d hoped to avoid it, although that was probably an unrealistic hope, anyway, since he would need her cooperation.

“Look, I need you to help me with a little problem I have.” He wasn’t used to fumbling for words like this, but the whole situation was damned awkward. “I’ve got a business associate whose eighteen-year-old daughter has decided I’m…” He searched for an appropriate expression, didn’t find one, and started over. “I mean, for some reason, she finds me—” He stopped. This was hopeless.

Deborah smiled faintly. “She has a crush on you?”

“Yes, that’s it.” He hoped he didn’t look as embarrassed as he felt. “Anyway, since her father’s divorced and she usually goes to functions with him, it’s a safe bet she’ll be at the party.” He grimaced. “Heather’s very young, and she’s had a rough time with her parents’ divorce. The last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings. It’ll be much easier all around if I’m otherwise attached.” Attached to a woman, he wanted to emphasize. But this wasn’t the time to point out that Deborah would have to mature herself for his party. He’d cover that later.

“I see,” Deborah said slowly. She was looking at him strangely, as if something about him puzzled her. For a long moment she said nothing at all. Finally she asked, “How attached are we talking here? Moderately or intensely?”

Cam stifled a smile at her pink cheeks and the hint of wariness on her face. How would she react if he insisted they needed to appear intensely involved? The impulse to find out was almost overwhelming, but he ignored it the way he ignored all impulses. “Moderately would do, I’m sure.” Cam examined the resigned expression that now appeared on her face. “You’ll do it?”

Her sigh told him everything he needed to know.

Chapter Three

“So I agreed to do it,” Deborah said later that afternoon as she sat on a stool in the large kitchen of Sweetness and Light. From behind her came the constant hum of conversation in the gourmet shop’s small café area. Scents of coffee and cinnamon rolls filled the air.

Ann Medford dropped a spoonful of salmon mousse into a pastry casing. “And you want me to do the catering.”

“Exactly.”

“All right, I’ll work you in. But only because it’s you.” Her friend grinned. “And because I’m curious as all get-out about this guy’s house. From what I hear, it’s got a kitchen to die for.”

“How did you hear that?” Deborah sampled a spoonful of the salmon mousse. She was just making conversation, of course. She couldn’t care less about Cameron Lyle’s house.

“I heard it from Stella. You know, up at Rags to Riches. One of her customers designed his kitchen, and she said the whole house was beautiful.” Ann whirled away to check on the pans of cinnamon rolls in the huge steel oven. She was only a few inches over five feet, but energy pulsed from her almost visibly. She was back within seconds. “Stella also said that another of her customers dated him for months, but she was never invited to his house.”

“Hmm.” Deborah dipped another spoon into the mousse.